Page 112 of Don't Fall for the Goalie

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My grip tightens slightly on her just before sleep drags me under again.

29

DALTYN

I wake slowly.

For a moment, I don’t know where I am. Or what’s going on.

And then I remember the nightmare.

The blood.

The knife.

My mother’s voice.

My inability to breathe.

Panic clawed me awake last night, my heart thumping and my pulse racing.

But this morning feels different. Warmth and soft blankets surround me. Steady breathing fills my ears. The faint scent of vanilla and coconut wrapped around me like a comfort I'd never known I needed.

Peyton.

The realization hits before I even open my eyes.

My entire body goes still.

Oh, fuck.

My eyes fly open.

I’m in her bed.

My head rests against her chest, one of her legs tangled loosely with mine. At some point during the night, my arm wrapped around her waist, like my subconscious refused to let her go.

And she let me.

For one brief second, I consider slipping out of bed before she wakes up. Before the panic returns. Before I ruin this.

But then, soft fingers drift through my hair.

My breath catches.

“You’re thinking too much,” Peyton murmurs sleepily.

My chest tightens painfully.

I slowly lift my head just enough to look at her.

Morning light spills softly across her face. Her hair’s a mess around the pillow, blue eyes still heavy with sleep. She looks warm. Soft. Safe.

And somehow, she’s calm.

No fear. No awkwardness. No regret.

Like waking up with me wrapped around her is the most natural thing in the world.

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